


Time Enough for Countin’ When the Dealin’s Done

by zinke



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crack, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-08
Updated: 2010-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>txduck asked for fic inspired by <a href="http://l-userpic.livejournal.com/104889256/12241245">this icon</a>. angiescully egged me on. Fluffy, 'shippy crack fic ensued. Me? I'm just excited that I finally found the time and inspiration to write <i>something</i>.</p><p>Thanks to gabolange for the quick and dirty beta.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Time Enough for Countin’ When the Dealin’s Done

**Author's Note:**

> txduck asked for fic inspired by [this icon](http://l-userpic.livejournal.com/104889256/12241245). angiescully egged me on. Fluffy, 'shippy crack fic ensued. Me? I'm just excited that I finally found the time and inspiration to write _something_.
> 
> Thanks to gabolange for the quick and dirty beta.

Sam takes her time checking that the lock on the cabin's bathroom door is secure before turning to consider the tatty, misshapen paper sack sitting on the corner of the vanity between Jack's razor and an open tube of toothpaste. Squeezed from the middle, of course.

She eyes the bag warily, cataloging the shape and size in an effort to discern what might be lurking inside. But the bag reveals nothing, leaving Sam with the rather unpalatable task of having to open the thing up and look inside.

For a brief moment she considers just flushing the sack and its contents down the toilet, but she's afraid of what the whatever-it-is might do to the cabin's fragile plumbing. She even contemplates the option of trying to climb out the bathroom's small, single-paned window but ultimately ends up dismissing the idea. It's not as if there are all that many places to run _to_ out here in the middle of nowhere Minnesota.

Besides, she's a decorated Air Force Colonel who's travelled the universe. Blown up a sun and saved the world. Literally. Several times.

So enduring whatever humiliation may be hiding inside the seemingly innocuous grocery bag should be a piece of cake. Right?

By the time Sam opens the bag and reaches inside, she's almost convinced herself that her earlier apprehension had been nothing more than an overreaction – until the moment she pulls out the contents and gets a good, long look at them.

"Oh no. No way."

"C'mon Carter," Jack cajoles from the other side of the door. Sam can practically _hear_ him out there bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet, undoubtedly wearing a shit-eating grin a mile wide on his face.

Perhaps she'd been too hasty in dismissing the whole escape-through-the-tiny-window plan.

"What? You don't like the color? I've always thought blue brought out the color of your eyes."

Or maybe she could just shoot him.

Sam is busy trying to reason out the logistics of how to open the door, get past him and pull her sidearm out of her duffel bag when she hears the familiar 'shave-and-a-haircut' rapped out on the doorjamb. "Oh, Car-ter…"

That's it. Tactics be damned.

Throwing open the door, Sam is unsurprised to find Jack leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely across his chest. And…yup, there's the shit-eating grin, too.

T hat she finds the whole look to be somewhat endearing only serves to irritate her further. "This," she says, giving him a menacing glare while waving the offending item in front of his face, "was _not_ part of the deal."

Much to Sam's dismay, Jack doesn't appear to be the least bit troubled by her display. "I may have decided to…alter the terms of our arrangement a little. Victor's prerogative," he adds a beat later. With exaggerated care, he reaches out to pluck the shirt from her hands. "Now, c'mon Carter, a bet is a bet. Don't want to be a sore loser now, do you?"

Her options exhausted and gun still well out of reach, Sam grudgingly gives in. But not without giving a final – albeit weak – parting shot. "I still say you cheated."

Jack has the audacity to look insulted. "And do you have any _evidence_ to support this groundless accusation of yours, Colonel Carter?"

"Not yet," she grumbles, the words becoming unexpectedly muffled as he pulls the shirt down over her head. She slips her arms through the sleeves, then glances at her reflection in the mirror. "I look ridiculous." Self consciously, Sam tugs at the hem of the shirt – and is surprised when Jack gently untangles her fingers from the fabric and threads them carefully through his.

"It does, you know."

"Does what?"

"Bring out the color of your eyes."

Sam wants to stay mad at him; she really, really does. After all, he deserves it. But when Jack looks at her that way – as if she's quite literally the most beautiful thing he's seen in the whole of the universe – it's impossible.

And the man damn well knows it, too.

Narrowing her eyes, she gives his hand a short, tight squeeze. "Flattery isn't going to get you anywhere, Jack."

Grinning, he releases her hand and throws an arm around her shoulder. "Wouldn't dream of it, Carter." He guides her from the room and down the hallway, giving her a brief squeeze as they round the corner. "So guys; what do you think?"

It's times like these Sam wishes her skin wasn't quite so fair; she can feel her cheeks getting hot as Daniel and Teal'c both turn to look at her.

"Colonel Carter, what is the significance of 'One Ill'?"

"O' _Neill_ ," Jack corrects, gesturing expansively at the t-shirt's graphic design – which just so happens to be silkscreened across her chest. "First love, last love," he adds with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Sam swats his hand away impatiently and rolls her eyes.

"I do not understand; did you not lose the bet, Colonel Carter?"

Sam takes a pointed look at herself. "Why else would I be wearing this ridiculous shirt?"

Jack turns to give her a wounded look.

"I don't know," Daniel says thoughtfully as he shifts in his chair to get a better look at her, "I think it's kind of…sweet."

"Daniel, please don't encourage him."

"Who, me?" Jack exclaims, crossing the room to flop down onto the couch. "You got into this one all by yourself, Carter."

Jack's patented innocent routine might work for unsuspecting aliens and Freshman Congressmen who don't know any better, but Sam isn't fooled. If anything, the sight of his wide eyes and grinning co-conspirators only makes her _more_ determined to find a way to exact revenge on all of them for the fun they're having at her expense. "It takes two people to make a bet."

"And to tango," Teal'c adds, his gaze sliding pointedly between her and Jack.

Daniel's got a hand over his mouth in an attempt to smother his laughter, but he's failing miserably. Which means she's blushing. _Again_.

Sam's only consolation is that Jack is suddenly looking almost as uncomfortable about the situation as she is.

But, embarrassed or not, Sam's still going to throttle the man the first chance she gets.

Though maybe she'll keep the shirt. It's actually kind of comfortable.

And besides; it brings out the color of her eyes.

 

*fin.*


End file.
